


automatic, kiss-o-matic

by strangeparties



Series: elu rainbows [1]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Kissing Booths, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeparties/pseuds/strangeparties
Summary: Everyday, ever since the Kissing Booth Incident™️, Lucas and Eliott can’t get within a five-feet radius of each other without sucking face. Everyday, Lucas’s faith in his own self-restraint drops yet another notch.or: lucas is an astronomy club nerd, eliott is in the varsity swim team. there might be a teaspoon of pining, with a hearty shot of denial. also, they can't stop kissing.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Series: elu rainbows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672108
Comments: 8
Kudos: 220





	automatic, kiss-o-matic

**Author's Note:**

> there's a little challenge going around the elu side of tumblr, started by the lovely @lifeisevak, where anyone can send you the 🌈emoji and you're supposed to respond with 100 words of elu fluff. clearly... that's not happening with me.
> 
> so as it is now, this is basically a set of loosely interconnected drabbles set in one timeline and universe which i'm compiling here for easier reading. as for a continuation, i can't promise it atm, but not all hope is lost (hint: i'm really easy to convince). i'll also be compiling the rest of the ficlets into one masterpost here on ao3 for everyone's convenience. 
> 
> thank you so very much to everyone who liked, rb-ed, and messaged! hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of themselves during this time!

1.

Only an hour in and he’s kissed six people, an even 50/50 split between guys and girls. For the girls, he gives them chaste, feather-light kisses; it helps that two of them were claimed by Alexia. “You kiss like a ghost in the dead of winter,” she says, laughing into her hand, and he rolls his eyes because he doesn’t have a comeback for truth bombs.

The guys, he could muster up a little more feeling. Not that it made the experience any better. One guy, blonde and tanned, kissed like a seagull dive-bombing towards floating trash in the sea. The guy left him a parting gift of a truly horrific flying kiss. Lucas had wiped his mouth with his arm and mentally ticked off a lot of hotness points.

Now, after two shots of mouthwash and a pack of gum, Lucas is going to taste like peppermint-strawberry for the rest of the day. He doesn’t mind much. There’s something about summer, despite the sweat creeping down his neck or the humidity gluing hair to his temples. The sun felt good pounding through the makeshift roof, slowing his mind down as he bobs along to the music on the speakers. He can’t help but feel excitement as he slouches over the booth counter. When late afternoon winds down, the boys from the swim team come out. Sometimes they go sleeveless, if he’s lucky.

From the distance, he sees Eliott waving goodbye to his teammates. A truly award-winning grin spreads on his face like melted butter. Like 95% of the school population (he sincerely sends his regrets to the other 5% with zero taste), Lucas is happy to watch him pass by, appreciate the muscles rippling across his back. But then Eliott’s actually walking towards him. He looks like trouble mounted on a well-oiled, lean muscled stick. Lucas steels himself.

“Hi,” Lucas says, flashing a billion-euro smile. In one hour this smile has yielded for the booth a 90-percent donation rate. With Eliott he hopes to raise the percentage up significantly. “Donate a euro for HIV awareness? You get a kiss from me, a free condom, and a travel-size lube.”

“Lots of fringe benefits. Not hard to see why people are lining down the block.” Eliott grins back winsomely, digging out his wallet and placing what looks like ten euro onto the counter. Lucas recognizes he’s trying to be funny, because not everyone wants to be kissed by a bunch of nerds. He laughs dutifully. “So, Lucas. You weren’t here in the morning.”

Lucas shrugs, relaxing. He and Eliott are friends, sort of. If you call ‘smiling like an idiot across dark rooms at parties’ or ‘exchanging perfunctory _hi, how are you_ and _good, and you?_ greetings in hallways’ friends. “I had class. Isak took the morning shift. Robbe the lunch shift. Matteo the shift before me. And now I’m here.”

Eliott nods in understanding. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Eliott is not in a sleeveless shirt, but his thin white shirt is damp and transparent. The more he regards Eliott, the more he seems to be an odd combination of baffling traits. Self-assured in the way he carried his height, a laidback and sort of corny sense of humor, and an innate awkwardness that seemed to emanate whenever he talked to Lucas. He wonders why sometimes; Eliott has nothing to be awkward for.

Eliott combs a finger through wet hair. A few drops glide down his neck, pooling briefly in the concave of his collarbones. Did he mention he _really_ honest-to-fucking-god loves summer?

Then with an embarrassing jolt, he remembers the absurd amount of money Eliott spent on the booth. He scrambles for the box on the ground labelled _CONDOMS_ in obnoxious rainbow glitter, gathering a bunch into his hands. He plops them onto the table with a slight huff, almost missing Eliott’s amused grin. 

“Uh, so now I guess I have to get you a ton of condoms,” Lucas presents with a flourish like a merchant showing off his wares. “Have at it.”

Eliott clears his throat. “If it’s okay with you, I’d… rather not.”

Lucas raises a brow. “Oh? Condoms are a great way to prevent—“

“No, I get that.” Eliott sighs. “See, I already got, like, ten condoms and bunch of lube? From earlier. Seven from Isak, I think. He was side-eyeing me by the fourth one and full-on judging me by the seventh. But he wasn’t up for telling me your shift schedule, and neither were the other two. Wanted to get more donations, I guess. Which is always a good thing!”

Lucas stares. “Are you shitting me?”

Eliott stares back. “No,” he says, evenly.

“So you’ve been here ten times. Did you get, uh, kissed?”

“Thing is, I didn’t avail,” Eliott says slowly, twinkling eyes bent into crescents. “So I believe the booth owes me ten kisses from earlier. Plus, an extra ten for the donation now. Twenty kisses are in order.”

Lucas bites his bottom lip so he can stop the grin blooming on his face. “Well, I can’t let our most generous donor down, can I?”

“Nope,” Eliott murmurs, leaning forward.

Lucas plants his hands on the counter to leverage himself up and into a kiss as he squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t do anything except to let Eliott slant his lips across his mouth and deepen the kiss even more. He gasps when Eliott’s tongue slips into his mouth and rubs against his, feeling thrills jolt his body, warming his nape. Eliott’s hands slip around his neck, urgently lifts his face up, tilts his head to bend in to kiss Lucas at another angle. God, Eliott is tall and Lucas may be inflicting several neck cramps on himself by doing this, but Eliott kisses so _well_ , tastes like watermelon and salt, and smells like clean linen sheets. It may be driving Lucas slightly feverish.

Eliott pulls away, leaving Lucas in a daze. His lips are stupidly red and his face is still way too close to Lucas’s.

“Nineteen to go,” Eliott whispers, and does it all over again.

.

2\. 

They’re supposed to be sitting in a circle to conduct a post-mortem on the booth: accounting, inventory, supplier audit, and reviewing whatever feedback forms they’ve managed to collect throughout the week. Then they’d finalize what to do for Science Month; they’re currently at an even split between hosting a constellation party or an auction under the stars. Key words: supposed to be.

In reality, they’re all crowding around a hapless Robbe’s phone. On top of Robbe _not_ getting the chance to kiss his own crush from the swim team the entire week of his booth shift, some guy’s sending him messages and weirdly angled selfies on instagram. The guy even captions it with tired one-liners such as _me: an astronaut, my mission: explore uranus_ and _no one_ is here for it.

“I mean, if this was Sa—“ Robbe starts forlornly, then promptly shuts up as pink heats up his cheeks.

“Even that guy isn’t so lame as to send you this,” Matteo pitches in with his signature mumbly blend of apathy and ferocity.

“Jens said he came down with the flu last week. Better luck next time, babe.” Luc wraps a consoling arm around a pouting Robbe’s shoulders. “On the bright side, at least he didn’t get to kiss anyone else! Well, he really shouldn’t anyway, because that would just be gross and irresponsible, but you get what I mean.”

“I don’t think he’s that bad.” Marti eyes the photos again, always way too nice for his own damn good. “Bit of a creep, though.”

“Are you fucking kidding? He looks like he could play Steve Buscemi’s crackhead son in a movie,” Lucas spits, the same time Isak deadpans, “Not that bad? I bet the Cryptkeeper takes better selfies.”

They all laugh. It’s times like these when they’re all weirdly in sync. Once during a night-in at school for one of their stargazing activities, they all discovered having uncannily similar backstories, similar worries with their mothers, similar daddy issues (except for Robbe, the lucky bastard). And the cherry icing on top of a very weird cake: they’re all gay, like Liberace and Freddie Mercury singing Elton John songs in a bathhouse gay. Isak declared their motley little crew of nerds as living, breathing proof that their collective belief in parallel universes could finally be vindicated.

Then Luc (deliberately) ruined the moment by comparing it to girls syncing their periods. In retrospect, they were all possibly high at the time, thanks to Matteo.

Their chatter and ribbing is interrupted when someone knocks. The person doesn’t wait for permission before poking his head through the door. Then, in all his six-footer glory, comes—

“Eliott?” Lucas bolts upright from his previous slouch, brows drawn together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Eliott’s in his tight swim team shirt, pristine white and a little faded at the edges, the yellow and black school logo silkscreened on the right breast. There are small, dark, wet spots on the sides of his gray sweatpants. Now Lucas doesn’t work out as much Eliott (read: he doesn’t work out at all, except to walk from Point A to Point B to get to classes in between buildings), but even he knows how much work must’ve gone into Eliott taking care of himself. His stomach’s so flat, and under this lighting, flexes just so when he inhales.

“ _Hiiiii_ Eliott,” Isak drawls. The entire club’s mouths curl up like the total shitheads Lucas knows they can be. “Anything we can help you with?”

“Hi guys, great to see you all,” Eliott greets amiably, but he’s just staring at Lucas from his vantage point. “I was just wondering if I could, um, borrow Lucas for a bit? It’s urgent.”

“We can make way for anything urgent.” Did he say Marti’s nice? Lucas always knew Marti held a mischievous streak a mile wide. “Go on, Lulu. We’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Would we, though?” Matteo muses, loud enough for Lucas to hear as Eliott takes him by the hand (his hands are so _warm_ ; god, he hopes his palms aren’t sweaty) until they’re standing outside into the empty hallway.

Lucas finds himself gently backed into the wall just beside the door. Eliott pins him with his entire body, the heat of it seeping through layers of their clothes and burning against Lucas’s chest. Eliott stands far too close, and Lucas’s higher functions are starting to abort. His heart starts driving an insane beat in his ears; the toe-curling tension hangs.

Lucas’s gaze flicker up, tilting his head back so he can get a better look at Eliott. And he’s looking back at Lucas. Really fucking looking. His eyes are a whole new shade of dark today. “Eliott, what are you—mmph!”

He makes a muffled little gasping sound as Eliott’s soft lips crush against his own. The linen scent coming off Eliott’s neck, his clothes, his entire _everything_ is so strong it sends Lucas’s mind reeling. He returns the kiss, mouth opening wide to welcome Eliott’s tongue. Eliott does a total power move that makes Lucas’s knees almost buckle, that is, he slips a firm hand between the wall and the small of Lucas’s back to pull even closer, bodies pressed together, firm.

“Eliott, m-maybe we should—“ Lucas gasps, breaking away, breathless, “— take this somewhere else?”

“I’ve got training in five minutes,” Eliott pants. The sound of it just nails Lucas further back onto the wall. “I just— broke away to see you. Even’s covering for me.”

“Star athlete Eliott Demaury skipping training to make out? With _me_?” One side of Lucas’s mouth scrunches up, a micro-reaction that has Eliott positively beaming. Lucas can’t really hide how much Eliott affects him, can he? “I need to look outside and see if the dinosaurs have resurrected, because _wow_. I’m weirdly honoured.”

Lucas doubts it’s even possible, but Eliott perks even more. He speaks in a jumbled rush, “I _had_ to skip. Semi-finals training has been a bitch and half and it’s whipping my ass, but missing a few minutes is worth it if it’s you. I’ve missed you. Really, really missed you.”

God, this insanely beautiful guy is out to drive him to an early, watery grave.

“Okay, fine,” Lucas declares, hauling Eliott in closer by his shirt collar. He lifts himself up onto his toes. “We have to make all the minutes you’re missing training count.”

Eliott’s hands cover Lucas’s own, rubs over his knuckles, the spaces between his fingers. He pulls their joined fingers over his heart. Twenty kisses count for something; muscle memory kicks in when they kiss again. Eliott’s mint and watermelon mouth is impossibly wet and hot as Lucas licks into it and sucks on Eliott’s bottom lip. Eliott makes this incredible rough, stunned noise and hearing it thrills Lucas, makes satisfaction fire through his blood.

Eliott is here for him. Eliott missed training for him. Eliott _misses_ him.

If there’s more to it than that, he resolves to find out soon. For now, he lets himself be kissed once more, with all the feeling, again, and again, and again.

.

3.

Crushes are cool. Crushes are nice. You ride on a high with just a glance or a smile, even if it’s meant for the guy behind you or the girl hanging out across the table from yours. Crushes are fun. It’s _not_ fun when your crush quietly begins to imprint, matching etch for etch what was once just a vague blueprint of your dream guy: a sweet man with gentle eyes, constant fuck-me-breathless hair, and a truly world-class kissing technique. Not to mention the necking game. Sweet lord, the _necking game_.

They have to stay crushes, though, don’t they? Even when you’ve heard said crush whisper into the crook of your neck, more than once, _I like you so much, so fucking much, you drive me wild, I think I might already love you._

Or else. Or else—

The day of the semi-finals, Lucas and the guys sit on the stands. They have the best view, not just because all of them are dating/about to date/engaged in an unspecified quasi-complicated relationship thing with the boys from the swim team. Luc and Isak have taken to subtly elbowing more than few fangirls who are trying to block their view by mulling around and staring way too long in front of them. Marti’s darkening the last few strokes on his ugly makeshift _GO NICO! GO SWIM TEAM!_ poster.

And Lucas? He’s just watching Eliott below on deck. He looks nervous but ready, exchanging full-toothed smiles with the rest of the team. He comes by their corner of the stands, lips ticking up a little on one side, glancing out the corner of an eye. He sticks his fist out in Lucas’s direction, sending a hot wave of affection pulsing through Lucas’s chest.

He waves back from the stands. Eliott looks about ready to burst — from nerves or something else, Lucas can’t quite tell.

A whistle breaks his train of thought, announcing the men’s 100-meter freestyle about to start. Lucas absentmindedly bites his lip, taking a deep breath. His heartbeat’s going strangely erratic, and _he’s_ not the one about to go win a medal for their University.

And then Eliott takes his swim parka off and begins stretching.

Approximately five liters of drool gathers in Lucas’s mouth. _Fucking Christ_. Lucas figures Eliott only eats steamed chicken breasts, tofu and 100-calorie oat crackers or something, because that is _not_ a body you get from Chinese take-outs and late-night pizza roll binges. To be fair, all the guys on the team had bodies worth killing for, too. But Eliott — even in those dumb little swim caps that made heads look like overgrown condom tips, still looked like a god. The world’s all kinds of unfair.

Eliott steps up to the starting block. Lucas’s eyes follow him as he bends to a start position; right foot at the front and other towards the starting block. The beep sounds. Lucas holds his breath as Eliott enters the water in a graceful arc. 

Eliott’s strokes are gorgeous: precise and elegant, quick and efficient. He leads easily, closing the gap with barely milliseconds to spare. Rapturous cheers blare past Lucas’s ears, everyone jumping up and screaming Eliott’s name when he’s declared the men’s 100-meter freestyle gold medalist.

Eliott gets out the water, allows himself to be dogpiled by his teammates, wrapping their arms around Eliott like a whooping, howling, rambunctious cocoon. Lucas smiles at the sight, likes seeing Eliott surrounded by friendship and warmth and pride; there’s no one who deserves it more.

Lucas keeps his eyes on him. Eliott looks up; Lucas flashes him a proud smile and a thumbs-up. Eliott presses two fingers to his lips and raises it up the air, waving his fingers in Lucas’s direction. 

“I’m so happy for you, Lulu,” Marti says after the awarding ceremony, beaming. “Say congrats to your boyfriend from all of us, okay?”

“Uh, he’s not. My boyfriend, I mean. But I’ll pass the message on. And congrats to Nico, too. Everyone did great today, it’s kind of amazing.” 

Marti peers at him like he’s speaking in wingdings. “Okaaay,” he says, stretching the syllables. “Take your time, I guess?”

“He’s playing hard to get. It’s his idea of foreplay,” Isak quips, already gathering his things to meet Even, who’d won gold in the 100-meter individual medley. Really, with legs as long as Even’s, it’d take a Christmas miracle for any other swimmer in the lanes to surpass him in surface area covered alone.

Lucas gives Isak the finger; he rolls his eyes and drags Lucas to come descend the stands with him.

“Hi,” Eliott says once they’re away from the stands and the din of chatter around the arena. The bright lights accentuate the twinkle in his blue-grey eyes. Eyes that Lucas would probably sell half his soul for to look at him this way forever. “I’m glad you’re here. I was sorta afraid you wouldn’t be.”

“Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t miss this,” Lucas says weakly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t answer your messages the past three days. It’s been hectic with midterms and I know you’ve been training, I didn’t want—“ Then he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t think it’s possible to contain this much anxiety from having to explain himself. “I’m doing a shit job at this, aren’t I?”

“Little bit,” Eliott laughs. “Look, it’s okay. I might’ve… gone ahead of myself. The last time.”

“And the two other times before that. And some more times. I’ve lost count.” The words gush out of him like butterflies that’s been trapped for too long, and the moment has come for all of them to come take flight. “But I — I like what you said. A lot.”

“Really?” There’s a tiny smile toying with Eliott’s lips now and Lucas feels that same burst of euphoria within him, so bright and fierce that even the latent anxiety isn’t drowning it out. “One of those times you actually said _thank you_ when I told you I liked you.” Eliott draws closer.

Lucas sighs. How is it possible for Lucas to have a massive boner (physical and emotional) for this guy and still burn with the desire to slap him into next week. “I’m an idiot who doesn’t know words, news at eleven. You—“

Lucas doesn’t get to finish the self-deprecating word salad percolating in his mind. Clearly, Eliott’s lips and tongue have the ability to suck the remaining IQ points out of him. He lets himself be pulled up onto his tiptoes and grabbed by the waist, the smell of chlorine and Eliott’s signature watermelon hits him like a freight truck.

Eliott shuffles closer to cup Lucas’s face, thumbs grazing the apples of Lucas’s cheeks. He bends down to be closer to Lucas; water droplets from Eliott’s hair, his brow, his eyelashes catch on Lucas’s skin. Lucas’s hand comes up to gently cradle Eliott’s wet hair; his other hand wraps around Eliott’s middle, trembling fingers squeezing the fabric of Eliott’s swim parka.

“Thank you for coming. It really means so much,” Eliott says when they pull back, voice low and tender. His damp hand reaches out to tuck a strand of Lucas’s hair behind his ear.

“Anytime,” Lucas whispers back.

They can talk about whatever this is later. In this moment, he’s content to hum as he leans into Eliott’s touch.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to yell at me on tumblr @pinkplanetaries :)


End file.
